PO Box 1980

Last winter, the water froze at our beach house for several days. The diapers sat, soiled, in their pail the dishes clustered, stuck together in piles. We waited until, on the fifth afternoon, we heard a loud gush, whish, splatter, and we rushed to the kitchen. Brown water spat from the faucet. My three-year-old and I laughed and clapped and ran to fill the clothes washer.